Light Up The Fireworks In Me
by JerichoholicAnonymous
Summary: Seth is going through the roughest phase of his life, having just lost a relationship and nursing a devastating knee injury. He is hellbent on spending Christmas by himself, wallowing in his own self pity. His plans, however, are ruined when Dean Ambrose stops by and invades his house with some Christmas cheer.


_Merry Christmas!_

* * *

Seth hated this time of year. He saw no good in it. He hated the bright flashy lights, the overly joyous chants of uncoordinated chorals, the way everyday life came to a still for one single commercial holiday, the suffocatingly superficial family gatherings destined to hide all the cracks beneath the exterior. He hated it all, which was probably why he wouldn't make the trip down to see his family for Christmas, deciding it wasn't worth the risk or effort to drag along his injured leg. He was more than glad to stay in by his lonesome self, spending the holidays on his couch eating pizza while Kevin snuggled up against his feet. He didn't want to be faced with the fake, boisterous spirit that filled the streets. This year, more than any other, he simply couldn't be bothered.

His plan was going by swimmingly, executed without a hitch. Having finished rehabbing his knee for the entirety of the morning, Seth was happily back on his white velvet couch, pillows in different shades of red surrounding him like a fortress, his eyes lazily watching re-runs of Game of Thrones. This was his ideal state, his true euphoria. So it was with great displeasure and an audible groan that he was interrupted by loud, incessant bangs on his door. His knee had healed enough for Seth to be able to wobble on the tips of his toes for short distances without crutches. The door kept on being knocked, frustrating Seth to no end, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets when he heard his name shouted by a very, very familiar voice. He almost didn't want to open the door, but when he did, he was sure that his brain was playing tricks on him.

"Seth! Took you long enough! How you doin', man?" A happy, cheerful Dean Ambrose was standing, in the flesh, on his porch in Davenport, Iowa, a grin stretched from ear to ear. Seth was fairly certain that he'd finally been driven to delirium. This was it, the tip of the iceberg. He was hallucinating. Must've been hallucinating.

"Uh..."

"Come on in, boys!" Dean signalled behind him, ushering in a group of men who'd been carrying an enormous Christmas tree over their shoulders. Out of stupor more than anything, Seth hobbled aside to let them in, nearly sprawling down onto the floor, his eyes still bursting out of his skull. His voice could barely cooperate, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry, because, what in the actual _hell_ was going on?

"Dean..."

"Seth! It's nice to see you, man! You aren't actually pickling like I thought you were!"

Seth's head spasmed from side to side, shaking himself out of the absolute state of shock Dean had sent him in.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" Seth shouted, completely despite himself. Some of the handymen were visibly taken aback by his outburst, but Seth could not care less. He was being ambushed in the comfort of his own home by the one man who could singlehandedly drive him insane in 1.1 second. A Christmas tree had literally been shoved into his house.

"What?!" Dean looked nonchalantly surprised, a combo only _he_ could pull off, and it was pissing off Seth even more. "Just bringin' a little Christmas spirit into your house! I thought you could use it. You're welcome, by the way."

Seth was on the verge of pulling his hair out of his scalp, bloody strand after bloody strand, genuinely disbelieving the gall that Dean possessed. "Who said I needed _you_ to bring in some Christmas spirit? Who said I even needed some Christmas spirit in the first place?!"

"Well, if you must know," Dean dragged his words, pushing past the arm that Seth had put up to block the entryway, carrying a bag with him, "a little birdie told me that you weren't doing anything for Christmas this year. So, I took it upon myself to correct that. Again, you're welcome."

"A little birdie? Oh. Ohhh." Two plus two equalled... "That son of a bitch. It's Roman. Of course. Of course. Reigns just had to tell you, didn't he? Just had to!" The figurative smoke was blowing out of Seth's ears. He was gonna kill Roman. He had to make him pay.

"Y'know, I take great offense in the fact that you still talk to Roman but won't even acknowledge my existence. Real cold of you."

"But you still can't take a fucking hint, can you?" Seth wincingly shook his head, his hands raised and outstretched with tension, palms facing Dean. This wasn't happening. He wasn't about to continue engaging in this conversation with Dean because as far as he was concerned, there shouldn't even be a conversation between them. "This is ridiculous. This is trespass. This is fucking trespass! I should have you arrested for this."

One worker visibly froze in fear over Seth's menace. Dean motioned him to keep going with a serious glare, reassuring him and the rest of the men with a speech out loud. "Don't mind him, alright? He just likes to yap away. Loves the sound of his own voice." He looked back at Seth, whose death glare clearly amused Dean as opposed to intimidating him. "Go ahead. Get me arrested. Make my trip worthwhile. It's been a long time since I've seen the back of a police station. As a matter of fact," Dean poked Seth's shoulder with his index finger, Seth batting it away out of pure instinct, "I don't think I've ever been arrested here in Davenport. That'd be a first for me."

No one, in the history of this planet, successfully irritated the living hell out of Seth more than Dean Ambrose. Hadn't he been so blindsided by Dean, and hadn't his knee been wrecked, Seth would've undoubtedly kicked him out before he even got a foot through the door. He was about to riposte before the workers cued in and announced they were done. Dean saw them out and slipped a five dollar bill in the frightened worker's pocket. The infuriating blond then proceeded to shut the door and turn on his heel to face Seth. Seth wanted to punch the lights out of his shit eating grin.

"Well, now that the tree's set, I guess I better get settled, huh! I'll put my bag upstairs in the guest room. I suppose it's still the same as it was the last time I was here?" It was a rhetorical question, Dean not even waiting for Seth's answer, already making his way up the stairs, not even a single glance back. The blood boiled in Seth's veins, his eyes nearly twitching. He moved his right leg forward, fully intending on chasing Dean before he leant his weight on the door side table, maintaining his balance.

"You are not fucking welcome here!" Seth yelled, to expectedly no response.

With a deliberately loud groan, Seth gingerly limped his way back to the couch, flopping down onto it in aggravation. He smacked his palms together, beating down on the maroon carpet beneath him with his left foot. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever, ever expected his day to turn out the way it did. Never could have he ever expected Dean to show up at his door with a gigantic Christmas tree in tow. He didn't know what game Dean was playing, really didn't know what he sought or what he wanted to get to. He hated feeling this powerless, seeing how unable he was to stand up to Dean and his onslaught. He couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't take him down or physically remove him from his house. He couldn't call the cops either, could never bring himself to, even though the offer appealed to him oh so very much.

The only thing to do — and possibly the best thing _to_ do — was do absolutely nothing. He knew Dean Ambrose inside out, knew how loose the screws were in that head of his'. He knew what brought him immense joy just like he knew what ticked him. He knew how his mind games worked despite falling victim to them more times than he dared to count. He knew that nothing threw Dean off the edge more than someone ignoring him and his show boasting little pranks. Dean thrived on reactions, lived on seeing the anger coil in his prey's face. He went even crazier when his games were met with a blank face and a cold shoulder. It sent him into a frenzy, running circles around himself. Seth realized that this would be the optimal solution. Maybe this would be the route that'd bring him the peace of mind he most certainly craved. He couldn't force Dean out of his house even if he tried to beg. But maybe he could drive him away, throw him so much off the deep end that he wouldn't want to stay and try to make his life a living hell. That seemed like a pretty sound plan to Seth.

Seth tried to shake off the overbearing distraction that was Dean Ambrose, squinting towards the television screen and the ongoing episode that'd been playing. To his chagrin, his moment in silence didn't last long, Dean noisily marching down the stairs, making his presence known instantly. He walked past Seth and through the living room area, leaving Seth flabbergasted in his wake.

"What's good to eat here? I'm fucking starving."

Seth leaned over to the side of the couch, getting a peek at Dean opening the fridge and every wooden cabinet in his kitchen, hunting for food, snarling when he barely found anything.

"All you have is greek yoghurt and a bag of raw pasta?" Dean exclaimed over his shoulder, not quite turning back to Seth, holding up the bag of pasta. "What kinda life are you leading, man?"

Seth sighed, unbothered with offering Dean an explanation with how he lived on takeout and delivery and friends occasionally dropping off some homemade dishes out of pity more than compassion because he didn't have the stamina or energy to cook for himself. That explanation would take too long to elaborate and quite frankly, Dean just didn't deserve it. Dean appeared from behind the wall separating the living room from the kitchenette, not much of an expression on his face. He stood a few feet away from the couch, wordless in contemplation for several moments.

"I'm hungry."

Seth subtly rolled his eyes, feeling like he was dealing with an oversized toddler. He briefly looked up at Dean then back to his screen, once again responding to him with silence.

"Wasn't there a deli down the street that makes some really good sandwiches?"

Seth determinately kept his gaze ahead of him, retaining himself from huffing out loud because yes, there was a deli down the street that made some really good sandwiches. "Maybe."

"Well, since there's no food to eat here besides plain fucking pasta and greek fucking yoghurt, I guess that's the best bet, isn't it?"

Seth hummed in a vague sound of agreement, still refusing to acknowledge Dean with words and syllables.

"What do you wanna have?"

Seth didn't quite expect Dean to care, didn't actually anticipate his gesture, his eyes snapping up at Dean quizzically, focused on watching his show.

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, come on. You must be hungry by now. A lil' diva like you can't be staying malnourished, now."

Seth looked up to the ceiling, beckoning the powers that be to grant him the patience he desperately needed.

"I said, I'm not hungry right now. God." Seth gritted through his teeth.

"Ugh, you can be so difficult sometimes. Whatever, your choice. I'll be right back. And if you think about locking the door after I leave, just know that I've unlocked more windows than you can fathom. And you know that I love a good climb. So don't even bother, sweetie."

Seth's eyes widened in rage, his brows scrunching in disgust. "Sweetie?!"

But before he could go off on a rant on how Dean should never call him 'sweetie', he was already out the door, Seth turning around to an empty doorway. Seth punched his cushions like a petulant child, wondering what the hell he'd done in his life to deserve the painful string of terrible luck he'd been dealt this past month. First, he had to see his accomplishments go down the drain with a single bad landing, forcing him to relinquish the one title he'd worked his entire life for. And now, he had to deal with, quite possibly, the worst Christmas he'd ever have with the most miserable of company in Dean Ambrose. Karma really was a bitch. All the heinous deeds he'd ever done were finally catching up to him one by one, successively falling on his head like a ton of bricks.

Seth was tired, downright exhausted. He didn't even have it in him to stand up and lock the door, or make sure it was properly shut in the first place. It'd be in vain, because if he trusted Dean with anything, it was his ability to sneak his way in no matter the circumstances, no matter the obstacles. He only wanted tranquility, tranquility which he was not afforded. What only felt like a few minutes later, Dean entered through the front door, announcing his arrival.

"I'm back!"

Greeted with no answer, he walked over to Seth, setting down a white plastic bag on the wooden framed glass table. He pulled out a sandwich, Seth noticing there was something else left in the bag.

"I got you a grilled chicken sub. I know it's your favorite."

It _was_ his favorite. Seth was, for the millionth time that day, taken aback by Dean, this time for a more different reason. He didn't expect him to be remotely considerate, didn't expect him to remember this minor of a detail from the past. It was strange, too strange, and there must've been a catch that Seth wasn't picking up on. So he refused the sandwich, out of pure principle.

"You wasted your money. Told you I wasn't hungry."

Dean sat on the adjacent armchair, white plushness bouncing under his weight. Dean went in on his sandwich, taking bite after bite, and Seth couldn't lie and say that he wasn't feeling a slight pang of hunger growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Stop being so stubborn and dig in, for fuck's sake." Dean said in between mouthfuls of food. It was vile and repugnant.

"If you knew how to listen and process words, you'd know that I don't want to eat right now." Seth scolded, despite the fact that his resistance was entirely out of spite.

Dean rolled his eyes and focused his attention on the big LED screen, another hour of Game of Thrones having just started.

"You still watch that show? I thought you woulda already watched every episode by now."

For a man so offhand and so careless, Dean sure was attentive, and Seth wasn't sure how he'd never noticed that. Maybe it was because he never had to before, because once upon a time, that attentiveness was second nature to both of them. Either way, it was still striking. Seth curiously glimpsed at him from the corner of his eyes, noticing how riveted Dean was by the show. He laughed every once in a while at the atrociously gore scenes of beheadings and manslaughters, the kind of scenes only a madman would find funny. Minutes later, with a brisk, sudden movement, Dean got up, dusting off the breadcrumbs from his lap onto the carpet.

"I'm taking a nap. That trip from Milwaukee to Iowa sure got me winded. I need my beauty sleep." Dean tapped the table with two swift taps before walking away. "Sandwich's still in the bag anytime you want it."

Seth couldn't help but raise a brow, watching Dean go up the stairs, completely and utterly perplexed by his behavior. Dean was being normal. He was, dare he say, being thoughtful. Whether it was an act or not, he wasn't sure. But if it wasn't an act, then Seth didn't understand Dean at all, truly didn't know what his motivations could be. Yes, he had imposed himself in his house out of the blue like a criminal. And yes, he'd been annoying every second of the hour and a half he'd been there, just like he'd always been. But he'd brought along a Christmas tree and bought him food, no shenanigans on show. At least not yet. And that confused the hell out of Seth.

He waited for a few minutes after hearing the clack of the guest bedroom door, making sure Dean was firmly planted in there before he tentatively drew the plastic bag closer with a finger. The aroma of his favorite sub prodded at his taste buds, his appetite enlivened. With a cautious glance up the staircase, Seth chomped into his food, unwilling to give Dean the satisfaction of seeing him give in and eat the sandwich he'd gotten him. He was perfectly satiated once he was done devouring it, wiping his mouth with the napkin that'd been neatly folded in the bag. Strangely enough, even with Dean Ambrose upstairs, Seth found himself feeling cozy. It was all warm and quiet in his house, the full stomach he had certainly adding to the sluggishness. Slowly, little by little, with the television softly blaring in the background, Seth dozed off in the corner of the couch, his body succumbing to the exhaustion it'd previously felt.

Everything was fine and dandy until Seth was awoken by the booming sound of metal pans banging and clanging against the counter, Kevin barking and running out of the living room. Seth's heart was racing, almost convinced that someone had broken into his house. He hurriedly grabbed his crutches and rushed to the kitchen, his chest nearly collapsing onto itself when it turned out to be Dean. The kitchen was a trainwreck, a shitload of brown paper bags scattered all over the place, every compartment in his cabinetry ajar, beeps coming from the fridge signalling it'd been open for far too long. His once sleepy eyes had now come unglued, his attempts at calming himself down floundering.

"Dean...Dean... What the _fuck_ is going on here?! What the fuck is all of this?!"

Dean was pulled out of the mess he'd created for himself, instantly turning to look at Seth like a felon caught redhanded. "Oh, shit, I woke you up." It didn't answer Seth's question in the least bit, Seth's eyes going even more incredulous. "I went grocery shopping."

"You went what?" Seth asked in disbelief, forwarding his head to accentuate it.

"Grocery shopping," Dean repeated with deceivingly innocent doe eyes. "Thought you needed a major restock on food since you had zilch. I got you some fresh meat, some fruit, some root vegetables, some potatoes for the mash. I even got you this huge fuckin' turkey, figured it'd be delicious to have on Christmas day. I also got you some cheese and some bread, 'cause those are some basic fuckin' essentials, y'know? Oh, I also got-"

"Wait," Seth interrupted, confused by one major element in all of this mayhem, "how the hell did you carry all of this, from the store, all the way to here?"

"I didn't actually carry it. I took your car."

Seth could've sworn he saw red in that moment in time. "You did what?!"

"Well, I was gonna take a walk to the grocery store but then, I realized I didn't remember where it was. And then, I just happened to find your car keys hanging out on the table by the door over there", Dean punctuated his story by pointing over to it, "so I told myself, why not?"

"Why not? Why not?!" Seth reiterated, raising his voice with every word, this Dean invasion getting on his very last set of nerves.

"Yeah! It was much more practical! What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? What's the big deal?! Jesus, you don't get to just take somebody else's car without their permission while they're fucking asleep to go run errands! You don't! That's theft! Fucking theft!"

Dean bent his head back for a second and gurgled, sighing just after. "Oh, don't be such a drama queen, Seth. Your car is in the driveway in one solid piece. That's not theft."

Seth felt the need to gesticulate his hands because he didn't know what to do with himself or the man standing in front of him. "You don't just take someone's car out for a joyride, Dean! You don't, that's not something you just do!"

"I didn't take it out for a joyride! I took it to get _you_ some groceries! I took it to do _you_ a favor!" Dean retorted, pouting his utter lip in defiance.

"But I didn't ask you for this favor! I didn't ask you to get me anything, I didn't ask you for _any_ of this!" Seth rotated his head from left to right, referring to the tree as well. "I didn't ask you for jackshit!"

Dean took a step back, his blue eyes squinting even further. "You're actually going ham over the fact that I bought you food and shit? You should be thanking me, you know. I'm doing this to help you out, even though you sure as hell don't deserve it, let alone from me-"

"Right, exactly! You hate me, you despise my guts, so _why_ are you doing this? _Why_ did you fly into Davenport and barge into my house with a fuckin' Christmas tree and shower me with food like I'm some charity case? Since when did you turn into a mother hen? Because that ain't you. That ain't you at all. You're no saint. You're selfish and conniving and insane, and-" Seth blinked anxiously, out of sorts, trying to chain his words together. "Just fucking spell it, man. What's in it for you? What's the agenda here, Dean? Because there must be a reason why you will not take a fucking hint already!"

"Holy shit, you're still paranoid about every little miniature thing, aren't you? You still can't accept a kind gesture without thinking there's a big fuckin' conspiracy behind it, can you?" Dean approached the marble island, slapping his right hand on it, staring Seth down. "Believe or not, I did all of this for you. Not for me, for _you_ , because I heard you were going through a rough fucking time with your knee and all. So I thought maybe, just maybe I should do something to help you out, if only for old times' sake. But maybe I really am fucking crazy like you say I am 'cause, I was crazy enough to think you'd actually appreciate it. But nope. You're still the ungrateful little bastard that you've always been. How fuckin' wrong was I to wanna do something nice for you, to try and plan a nice Christmas for you-"

"I don't even wanna celebrate Christmas, I don't even care-"

"Don't give me that shit, Seth!" Dean yelled. "I still know you like the back of my hand! You don't think I know how much you look forward to Christmas every year? You don't think I know how much you love it? I know you, Seth. I know you love decorating your tree and that you buy Christmas hoodies for Kevin and that you secretly sing Last Christmas in the shower and that you love, love wearing matching ugly sweaters with your mom when you open your presents! I know, Seth. I know. So don't try and tell me that you suddenly don't like Christmas or that you don't wanna celebrate it anymore."

Seth was left somewhat speechless by Dean's tirade, this time more than taken aback by just how much Dean knew about him, how he'd noticed things he hadn't even told him, how he memorized all of these little details even a year and a half after they'd gone their separate ways. Seth was shocked, but it was a different kind of shocked. It wasn't the scared, appalled kind of shocked he was used to. It was the kind of shocked that tugged on his heart strings and made his chest swell, the kind of shocked that he didn't know Dean could elicit out of him. The tension changed for Seth, but seemingly, it wasn't a change that Dean had sensed.

"But if my presence is so insufferable, if you just can't, _can't_ stand having me around, then fine. Fine, Seth. Have it your way. Have a miserable fucking Christmas with your dog for all I care. I ain't stayin' around to be treated like shit when all I've done is try to be nice for a change." Dean walked around the island, a whoosh of air left behind by his steps, stopping and spinning towards Seth a few steps later. "You know what, keep the tree, keep the food, keep it all. I don't want any refund from your ungrateful little ass."

It was then that Dean well and truly left, storming up the stairs, leaving a shaky Seth to stand alone in his kitchenette on his crutches. Kevin was whining at his feet, a sound very faint in Seth's ears. For the first time in history, he felt like _he_ was the jerk to Dean Ambrose, not the other way around. He felt like an asshole, because for all the bluff that Dean was known for, every word that'd come out of his mouth sounded true as true can be. He knew Dean well enough to know when the other man was lying and when he wasn't. And right then, he wasn't playing around. Dean sounded insulted, perhaps even hurt, which wasn't a frequent reoccurrence by any means.

Seth was seized by remorse, and then by a sense of urgency. For all the hours he'd wished that Dean would get the hell out of his house, it was finally happening, it was finally coming true. And while it'd been exactly what he wanted just a few minutes prior, it wasn't the case anymore. Because as he inched closer and closer to the guest bedroom, he was realizing that he missed having someone care for him. He missed having someone by his side and understanding his needs. It'd been such a long time since someone paid attention to Seth, actually cared for his happiness and wellbeing. He'd never expected Dean to be the person to fill those shoes, to fill that void, but there he was. And he was on the verge of leaving.

Maybe that wasn't the best idea. Maybe it wasn't what he deeply, really wanted. Maybe Seth shouldn't let him go like that.

He stood in front of the door for a few, very wary minutes before he knocked on it, softly pushing on the knob with his more able left side. Dean was sitting on the opposite side of the queen size bed, his back facing Seth, his face ducked down.

"Just so you know, I couldn't find a flight back to Vegas tonight, so I'm finding a hotel to spend the night there."

"I'm sorry, Dean." That oughta stop Dean in his tracks. And it did, Dean pausing the finger that'd been scrolling down his phone screen.

"I didn't...I shouldn't have- I shouldn't have treated you the way I did. I've been the worst host ever. Although... Technically I'm not really a host since you're not really my guest because a guest is someone you actually invite but..." Seth breathed in, realizing that his rambling wasn't much of an apology. "Point is, I shouldn't have snapped like that. You were tryna do something nice, in your own twisted way, and I threw it back in your face. So I'm sorry. It's just..." Seth scrunched his face, uncomfortable and pained, putting words to feelings he wasn't sure he wanted to share. "I'm not used to someone doing something nice for me. It's weird. Like, really, really weird. And I wasn't expecting it from you. At all. If anything, I thought you'd be here to bash my face in and plot my murder or somethin'."

Dean was silent from where he sat, reluctant to stand up or face Seth.

"Don't try to find a hotel, alright? And don't try to find a flight home. You can spend Christmas here if you want." The words were flowing out of Seth's mouth, little thought backing them up. It was a strange feeling for Seth, to just pour out whatever came into mind. But he didn't wanna revoke any of it. The offer still stood, still genuine. Dean's head tilted up to the side, still not towards Seth.

"When...when were you planning on leaving anyway?"

"The 26th. We run a show on the 27th." Dean answered a couple of seconds later.

"Okay, so, don't change your plans. Don't. Unless you want to."

Dean finally shifted on the bed to look Seth straight in the eyes. The look in his eyes was contemplative, almost as though as he was searching for something inside Seth. He stared at him for a bit before abruptly speaking up.

"I heard she left you."

Seth felt himself physically stiffen, not only because he didn't anticipate Dean to bring up the subject in this instance, not only because he didn't expect Dean to be aware of it, but also because it was a still a fresh wound, a sore topic, one he refused to let himself think about.

"Yeah, I really, really don't wanna talk about that right now."

Dean slowly nodded his head in consideration. "Fair enough." He glanced at the mattress then back at Seth, studying him as he nodded a bit more. "Yeah. Yeah, alright. I'm staying. But you better pull that stick out of your ass and start getting on your best behavior, mister. "

"I don't have a stick-" Seth stopped himself, realizing that debating about whether or not a stick was indeed up his ass was useless and would most likely deviate into another worthless argument. "I'll do my best." The answer brought out a wide smirk from Dean's lips, a genuine smile with dimples popping out.

Seth felt slightly awkward and uneasy as he wished Dean a good night, noting it was late enough and dark enough outside to clock out and get in some sleep. He had to be up and at it early enough as it was, his rehab appointment scheduled for 6 AM. Seth was determined to register as many hours of rehabbing as he could in a day, dead set on pushing himself to the limit and speeding up the recovery process as much as he could. It had barely been a month since Seth underwent surgery and already, the wrestling withdrawals were nagging at him like teeth nipping into skin. It was all consuming, reverberating in his bones.

He got woken up by his alarm clock at 5 AM, giving himself an hour to freshen up, get ready and arrive at the therapy center. He put on his black framed glasses, ran a hand through his hair and got out of bed. It was still dark outside, a faint cast of white light peering through the windows, the sky a dark grey. He went through the regular motions of his routine, winding up in the kitchen to prepare his morning coffee brew before his phone rang. It was Marek Brave, his longtime friend now turned business partner, who'd taken on the task of driving Seth to and from the therapy center everyday. It was still 5:20, half an hour ahead of his usual pickup time.

"Hey Marek, what's up?"

Seth's face fell in dread as he heard that his friend couldn't make it. "Shit, you're sure you can't even drop me off at the center?" He put down his cup of coffee on the counter, his free hand tousling his already disheveled mane, trying to think of another alternative. "No, no need to be sorry, man, I get it." It turned out that Marek was already on his way to another town. He was booked for a last minute wrestling seminar in Chicago, meaning there was no chance he could be of help to Seth. "Yeah, I'll come up with a solution, call a cab or somethin'." Marek apologized again, wished him luck and assured him he'd call him later that night. "I appreciate it, man. Take care."

They both hung up, Seth suddenly feeling a wave of pressure pounding on him. He set his phone on the island, warming his hands with his mug.

"Fuck."

"I'll take care of it." A hoarse, raspy voice chimed in, coming from a bit further away. Seth approached the living room area, noticing Dean standing at the top of the stairway, his hand gripping onto the wooden handrail, his dusty blonde hair shaggy and all over his forehead. "I'll drop you off there. Just gimme five minutes to change and I'll be ready."

It was incredible how Dean kept surprising him those past twenty-four hours, and for all the reasons he wasn't used to with him. "You sure? I can just call a cab. It's really early, you must wanna sleep."

"Positive. I won't take long."

Dean quickly disappeared from behind the railing, Seth hearing the door softly shutting behind him. Dean's gesture was kind of unsettling, but Seth thought he should return it. In the meantime, he prepared Dean a light sandwich with the fresh groceries in his pantry, remembering how hungry the blond could be the minute he woke up. True to his word, Dean only took a few minutes to prepare, coming into the kitchen clad in workout gear, gym bag in his left hand. Dean explained that he figured he'd get some exercise in while he was it. Seth offered him the sandwich which Dean finished in all of three bites, and soon enough, they were in the car and on the way to the facility. The drive was silent, but not uncomfortably so. It was still too early to be up, both men still a tad bit drowsy. The streets were empty and the ride was steady, Seth staring out the passenger's window, catching Dean through the corner of his eyes calmly focused on the road ahead. Contrarily to popular belief, Dean wasn't the worst driver out there, Seth unconcerned with the fate of this trip.

Dean aided him out of the car and accompanied him into the building, offering his shoulder as a prop. Seth's physical doctor was already there, greeting both of them with a firm handshake. Seth didn't expect Dean to stay through his stretches, but he did. The room was secluded, Dean standing in the corner as Seth laid on the chair. Everyday was a challenge on the road to rebuilding his knee, and that day was no exception. Seth kept his poker face on as best as he could, much like he'd always done. But it was hard to keep a tough front when the pain throbbed. His knee hurt as the stretches got deeper. And with every grimace and every squirm, he could see Dean taking a step forward then back with unusually tender eyes, almost like he'd wanted to reassure Seth, almost like he'd wanted to comfort him through the ache.

When they moved to the gym portion of the schedule, Dean worked out as Seth continued his exercises. Seth noticed that Dean was never too far away, a short distance separating them at all times. Dean would watch him. Not in the way an opponent would study his adversary — he watched him in a way that threw him back to The Shield of old. He watched Seth with caution, with great care. He watched him to make sure he was alright, and in some way, Seth knew it just by looking in his eyes. Dean finished before he did. In a moment's notice, he had showered and changed in blue jeans and a navy hoodie, standing by Seth as he shuffled from machine to machine. He was wordless, only nodding every now and then as encouragement. Somehow, it was exactly what Seth needed to get through the session. He didn't want a vocal cheerleader, and Dean seemed to understand that. More importantly, he understood him. Dean, as he was then, was just the antidote that Seth needed, whether he intended to be or not.

Seth was warming up to Dean more and more by the second, slowly but surely believing that Dean wasn't hoaxing him at all, was never up to anything in the first place. Any fight or hostility he'd held for him was seeping out of his system. This time around, when Dean offered him a bowl of pasta with canned sauce on top, he gladly accepted it. This time, he didn't resist Dean's idea to go into town and hunt down decorations for the Christmas tree. They steered clear from the mall. It was Christmas Eve, so it was undoubtedly a battle zone by then. Instead, they spent their afternoon going from retailer to retailer, Seth insisting on getting white and gold ornaments while Dean persistently wanted some color. They settled on a compromise, Dean managing to get his way by dropping in their cart some red garlands. They hung all of the embellishments up as soon as they were through the door, Dean looping the shiny lights around the tree while Seth methodically placed each and every white and golden ball. Dean had snuck in some gingerbread men and took great pleasure in positioning them on, giddy as a five year old would've been in his place. All the while, any tension between the two dissipated, the icy cold atmosphere that once surrounded them melting away, letting way to warmth, complicity and affection. The conversation started flowing like fluid. Futile stories were shared while jokes and jabs were lightly traded. They fell into their old habits easily, more easily than Seth thought possible. As quickly as they'd left their friendship behind, it was almost like they were back to where they were two years ago.

But there was a tinge of something different in the air. Seth couldn't put a finger on it, but it was something. It was something. And it wasn't uncomfortable. On the contrary. It was welcoming. It was alluring. It was magnetizing.

By the end of the night, after they'd ordered in some pizza, Seth was winded. He excused himself and bid good night to Dean, leaving the blond to his own devises. Seth fell into a slumber as soon as his body hit the mattress and pillows. Sleep engulfed him like a cozy blanket for a mere few hours. It wasn't rare for Seth to wake up in the middle of the night. It was a habit he'd been more than accustomed to from his days on the road. He'd always been used to waking up to pitch dark silence. That night, however, he wasn't alone. He woke up to the distant sound of music playing downstairs. Curiosity got the best of Seth as he groggily slid downstairs, prudently going down to the living room. The room was dimly lit by the burgundy lamp by the couch and the dainty red lights beaming from the tree. Dean's head was swaying to the melody of the music, clearly entranced by it, halting when he saw Seth come around the side of the couch. He reached for the remote, instantly lowering the volume.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Seth waved it off. "Don't worry. Couldn't sleep anyway." It was a half lie. It wasn't Dean's fault that he'd woken up, but he probably could've fallen asleep right after, just like he always had when he was alone. But he felt this pull towards the ground floor, this intrigue to be with Dean in that moment. He sat down on the couch, Dean moving aside to make some space, leaning on a bundle of cushions he'd set up for himself in the corner.

"I was browsing through the channels and I found this one. They have jazz night." A muted smile spread on Dean's face. "I love it. Like, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Bill Evans... That's my shit right there."

Dean smiled again, so enamored by the music and the feel of it. His smile was reciprocated by Seth instinctively, reciprocated so naturally that it almost didn't bode with the nature of their relationship. It was a thought that fleeted Seth's mind for all of two seconds, ending when he peered down and noticed Dean nursing a small glass, both hands wrapped around it, hiding its content.

"Whatcha drinking?"

"Eggnog." Dean answered, dropping his left hand from the glass and twisting it towards Seth.

"Eggnog?" Seth reiterated with bewilderment, because since when did Dean drink eggnog?

"Eggnog. Want to try it?" Dean offered, extending the glass, Seth giving him a suspicious look for it. "It's really good."

Seth examined it for a moment, deciding to go for it in the end. He shrugged it off, because why not. He accepted the glass, taking a swig. He immediately winced when the liquid went down his throat, rattling his head, a reaction that got a soft laugh of Dean. "Oooph. Jesus. Goddamn that was strong."

"Did you really think I was gonna have eggnog if it wasn't spiked?"

Seth let out a rocky breath, his eyes on the verge of watering, still getting over the intensity of the drink. "I should've known better. What did you put in it anyway?"

"Hennessy. Found it hidden in one of your cupboards yesterday. Thought I'd put it to good use."

Dean took another sip, exhaling in satisfaction. As the taste settled between his lips, Seth had to admit, it was actually pretty damn good. The sweetness of the eggnog and the ardent bitterness of the liquor fused and made for an intoxicating blend on his tongue. Seth eyed the glass on Dean's lap then snatched it, taking another go at the eggnog, revelling in the lava burn traveling down his throat.

"Told ya it was good."

Dean chuckled and took the glass from Seth's hand, swallowing whatever was left of it, slamming it down on the table like they were in a bar. Dean gazed back at Seth for a while, a mischievous smirk on his wet lips, a devious twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Want me to make you another one?"

Seth nodded, and he was pretty sure he was sporting a coy smirk, too. "Go make me another one."

Dean acquiesced, grabbing the dismissed glass along with him. Seth could hear the cupboards opening and the bottle cap echoing, could envision Dean pouring the Hennessy down in their glasses like a true barista. Dean returned in short order, two spiked eggnogs in both hands. Seth thanked him, clutching his drink like it'd been the holy grail. As the glasses emptied and refilled, laughs turned into uncontrolled giggles, so uninhibited and so carefree. Half the time, Seth didn't know why he was snickering, boosted by the closest thing he'd felt to contentment in an awfully long time. As Dean returned with their fourth round of the night — this time the drink heavier on the alcohol than it'd been on the eggnog — Seth was still laughing, a crazy story about one of Dean's exes chasing him down with a bat bringing him to near tears.

The laughter progressively died down, Seth's head a bit hazier, his thoughts just a little cloudier, blurry as they processed them all. His mood changed in a riptide, melancholy replacing the contentment he'd felt just seconds before. Dean heeded the change, placing a soft hand on Seth's uninjured left knee.

"What's wrong?"

"She left me five minutes before the surgery. In case you were wondering." Seth spilled out, no censor on the words he'd said, because something about exes triggered thoughts about his own ex. "Zahra, she...she walked out in the hospital. Just like that. Said she couldn't do this anymore, couldn't handle all of this," Seth motioned with his hands, replicating the scene before rolling his head. Dean was patting his knee in gentle strokes, an absent movement that melted into Seth's skin and bones. "It was all a scam. It was never real. She only wanted me when I was champ. I became worthless to her without the belt."

Dean's touch stopped, clenching his knee a bit more firmly. Seth's eyes moved from the carpet to Dean's own pupils, the blue in them so intense that it slightly staggered him. Dean shook his head, upholding his gaze. "She didn't deserve you. She never did." His brows rose and fell, a closed smile on display. "I never liked seeing you with her."

Seth's head forwarded by an inch, his eyes crinkling, because he had no idea that Dean didn't approve of his relationship, had no idea he even cared about it to have his own opinion. "Why?"

"She made you worse. She didn't know what you were all about. She...she made you all dark an' mean an' shit and... You weren't like that, y'know. You used to be _so_ full of life, man, like, you used to have this crazy fuckin' energy and it was _so_ fuckin' contagious. But you lost that when you were with her. You lost...you. I couldn't recognize you."

Seth could feel his eyes soften, could feel them go to mush, because Dean kept surprising him over and over and over again, because he didn't know how introspective he really was, because he didn't know he could still see straight through him after all this time and because, why had he never paid attention to _this_ Dean before?

"How did you...how did you know? How did you see it? I mean, you've been...you've been far away. You haven't been around. We haven't talked in forever."

Dean's hand was still on his knee, the vigor in his eyes only escalating by the second. "I know you, Seth. I don't need to talk to you to know how you're doing. I can know just by looking at you how you feel. I don't even need Roman to give me your news to know how you're doing. I know you. _I know you._ "

Seth suddenly felt self-conscious, dipping his head down towards the floor. Dean was more forthcoming under the influence, and it only pushed Seth to do the same, to liberate the realizations in his head. Dean was good. He was good. Probably too good for a scumbag like him. He relived the past two days in a rush, from Dean surprising him with a Christmas tree, to getting him groceries, to keeping him company through rehab, to standing by his side the whole way through, to helping him decorate his house for the holidays. To say he went out of his way for Seth was an understatement. It was so much. It was too much for a guy who had betrayed Dean more times than he could bring himself to count.

"Why are you like that with me?" He muttered under his breath, avoiding Dean's soul-searching gaze at all costs. "Why are you so good to me? You know I don't deserve it. You know I don't."

"I don't know, Seth. I don't know. I can't really help it. You...you. You've always been my weak spot."

Seth's eyes shot up to Dean's, his heart skipping a beat because he looked serious, dead serious, and the mood in the air would not stop swivelling. It was stealing his breath. "Your weak spot, huh."

"My weak spot." Dean repeated, his hand moving up to Seth's thigh. Seth could swear they were both drawing in closer, a shy, blinding smile adorning Dean's face. "My achilles heel. Your MCL."

"Oh, fuck off." Seth shoved his shoulder playfully, grinning despite himself while Dean rumbled in amusement. Seth reluctantly looked back at him, trying to stop himself from smiling and completely failing to do so. They kept staring at each other, no objective in mind, no words exchanged from their mouths, their faces only inches apart. They stayed like this for a while, until Dean hid his face in his collarbone to suppress a lengthy yawn, his eyes much more foggy when he pulled back.

"I better get to sleep."

The 'something different' that Seth had sensed was still in the air. He bobbed his head softly, not wanting to hold Dean back any longer if he was tired. "You should. It's late."

"Yeah. I will."

Dean nodded back, and just as quickly as he leaned in, he pressed his lips to Seth's in the softest, chastest of kisses, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, as though they'd done it hundreds of times, as though they'd been together for years upon years. It was so brief that Seth was unsure that it was real, that it actually happened.

"Good night." Dean whispered, coolly going upstairs like he'd done absolutely nothing out of the norm. Seth, though, was rooted in place, static and unwilling to budge. His lips tingled, his stomach flipping onto itself. He brought his fingers up to his lips, the moment too surreal. For some reason, he wanted to it to be real, to cement the moment in his head, to immortalize it forever. Not throw it away.

The kiss kept replaying in his head in vivid colors, sticking to him for the entirety of the night. The kiss had sucked away any effect the alcohol might've had on him. The kiss had driven his brain to short circuit. It consumed him, captured him in a frenzy. He didn't know where to begin, what to make out of it, didn't know if this was something Dean wanted or whether this was driven by the booze. He had no idea where the kiss came from, although he'd felt that impalpable tension blossom and bloom between them the entire time Dean had been there.

It got him wondering if that tension was there all along. And when Seth decapitated every moment they'd ever shared together, the epiphany was there, waiting in the wings. Through friendship and war, they'd always, always had this underlaying connection, this special spark he never quite had with anyone else. He'd always put it down as simple chemistry, chemistry that came and went when they stopped crossing paths. Difference was, since Dean had been in his house, that tension returned and rekindled tenfold. That tension strengthened the pull he'd always felt towards Dean, turning that pull into temptation and that temptation into attraction.

He didn't know whether it was all in his head or if Dean had felt it too. All his mind could remember was how soft the kiss was, how sweet the kiss was, and how it was Dean. It was _Dean_.

His head was a mess, a maze he couldn't get out of. He couldn't sleep. But eventually, the overthinking got to him, overtiring him, sending him to a fitful slumber he woke up out of a couple of hours later.

It was 7 AM. He had no rehab that day. It was Christmas Day after all, and his trainer was off. Lazily, he ran a hand over his face and willed the sleepiness anyway, deciding it was aimless to doze off once again. He hobbled over to the window, shivering from the coolness of the air despite the heater being on. The sun was about to rise, the sky a light grey. A true gift was waiting for him, though. Beneath the clouds, to his ultimate glee and elation, the entire ground was covered in snow, his garden coated in white. His irises glinted as he took in the landscape, his inner Christmas enthusiast gleaming with joy. His attention prickled when he saw a figure running in the snow, his lethargic eyes now fully focused on freaking Dean, who thought it was a swell idea to go out in this weather with a fleece hoodie and sweatpants. He rushed downstairs as aptly as he could, putting on a heavy duty winter coat and a wool scarf. He opened the door to a blistering breeze of fresh air, finding Dean making snow angels. Seth assumed he had positively lost his mind even more than he already had.

"Dean! Get inside! You're gonna get sick!" Seth called out.

"Seth! It's snowing! It's snowing, Seth! It's a Christmas miracle!" Dean yelled back, kicking some ice, seemingly not hearing Seth through the wind.

Seth walked up his porch, intending on going down the two short steps of stairs to catch up to Dean.

"Don't come down here, Seth! Your crutch will get stuck in the snow!"

Seth complied, Dean now in nearer distance. "Dean, get back here. You'll catch a cold!"

Dean trotted to the bottom of the porch, tugging his hand out of his pocket to blow snowflakes in Seth's direction, flashing the brightest smile Seth had ever seen on his face. "Let me enjoy it for a bit, alright? I'll go back inside in a few."

Seth let him be and Dean took it as a green light to saunter away into the snow. He stood by the pillar for a few moments before going back inside, making two cups of scorching hot coffee for the pair of them. He walked back out as Dean was building the clumsiest snowman he could've ever recalled seeing. Dean was so absurdly focused on his mission, his stuck out tongue a telltale sign. If there was any doubt that Dean was a five year old trapped in a twenty-nine year old's body, the confirmation was right there in plain sight. It didn't stop Seth from being endeared by the entire scene, his heart fluttering as he watched Dean proudly showcase his creation when he was done with it. It was so charming and so intimate to see and a thought creeped in and lingered in his Seth's mind. He could get used to this.

Dean jogged up the porch, tripping on his way over to Seth. Seth quickly put aside the mugs of coffee on the windowsill, holding his hand out to stabilize Dean, amused and concerned all at once.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Dean assuredly nodded with a smile, his dimples prominent and protruding.

"Are you sure? Fuck, you're freezing..." Seth noted, running his hands up and down Dean's dampened arms, trying to make the shivering go away.

Dean took an extra step closer, their eyes so near, their breaths on each other's face, and he nodded again. "Yeah. I'm better. Much better now."

They were so close, even closer when Seth took a step forward of his own. He was so enchanted and so very much under Dean's spell, his eyes more vibrant than the sky ever could be and there was no mistaking it now. Seth wanted to kiss him. And so he did.

Seth planted his lips on Dean's, Dean returning the kiss automatically, humming in the same contentement that Seth could feel in his stomach. He was warm, so, so warm, Seth entangling a hand in Dean's curls while the other ran up his neck. Dean's arms wrapped around his waist, deepening the kiss as their tongues languorously met, their kiss so leisured and so relaxed, and Seth felt like he'd been reinvigorated with newfound vivacity he didn't think possible in this period of his life. Dean broke the kiss for air, much to Seth's dismay, more than willing to be sinked whole by Dean and his lips.

"About time we kissed under the mistletoe."

"Mistletoe? What mistletoe?" Out of breath, Seth crooked an eyebrow. He looked up and — lo and behold — there was actually a mistletoe stuck to the roof of the porch. "How did you... When did you- no, you know what. I don't even wanna know how and why it got here."

"Better not ask questions."

Dean leaned in to steal yet another unending kiss, this one more intermittent, peck after peck laid on Seth's lips. Seth felt so whole, so complete, in a way he'd never felt before. In a way, despite being far away from every person he called family, the crazy man he'd gone to war with for years and years had somehow managed to turn his house into the warmest home he'd ever known for Christmas.

Seth nuzzled their noses together, gently biting Dean's bottom lip and muttering against it.

"Merry Christmas."


End file.
